


Pale As the Creatures of the Deep

by Newtavore



Series: raunchy pale threesome (with no sex) [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Homesmut Kinkmeme fill, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Men Crying, More Like Trolls But.., Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Sollux is an Asshole, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Touch-Starved, sorry about that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 16:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1434712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Newtavore/pseuds/Newtavore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's a highblood, and highbloods are prone to highblood rages. You can see it in the way his hands tremble, long fingers clenching in fury when he gets cornered, taunted by one troll or another; you can see him take his anger and lock it away, watch him drop into a state of false calm, and you worry more with every day that passes. You aren't sure how long he can keep himself under control, and you don't think any of you will come back to life if you die again. You don't want anyone to die, and you don't want him to be forced into a position that causes him to hurt someone.</p><p>You don't want anyone to die, but everyone on this fucking asteroid seems hell bent on making it happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pale As the Creatures of the Deep

**Author's Note:**

> prompt fill for http://homesmut.dreamwidth.org/39716.html?thread=44432932#cmt44432932
> 
> which asked for diamond having heartbreakingly low expectations when it comes to shooshing and papping. Not sure if i really got what the OP wanted, but i tried.

Everyone on this fucking asteroid is a mess, absolutely everyone, with no exceptions. Not even you, despite your personal feelings on the matter. In fact, you are probably one of the most fucked up, though you can safely say you aren't  _the_  most fucked up. No, the one who holds the dubious honor of that title is one Eridan Ampora.  
  
Eridan Ampora, who'd been painfully dumped by his moirail for the troll he wanted as a kismesis, Eridan who'd snapped and gone on a highblood bender, blinding Sollux, killing Feferi, and technically killing Kanaya. Eridan, who'd been resurrected with a thick, grotesque scar and a fear of all things jade and tyrian.   
  
You haven't seen much of him since the Game ended. He keeps to himself, prowling the corridors during midday and being generally impossible to find at any given moment. From what little you have seen, though, he's tired, wan and drawn, with dark shadows under his eyes and a defeated, hunted look about him. He avoids the rest of the group, shying away from all of you with a kind of single minded intensity you would be sure was a way of drawing attention, if you hadn't seen the way he carries himself now.   
  
He's trying his best to be forgettable, going so far as to ditch the cape and most of the jewelry, skulking around in only the bare basics and his scarf, which is frayed and faded. His straight, proud posture is gone, as if all the self confidence had been drained out of him like air from a balloon, and while the purple streak is still as vibrant as ever, he's stopped styling his hair to showcase it. He's a shade of his former self, quiet and restrained and skittish, and you hate to admit it but you're actually  _worried_  about him.   
  
He's a highblood, and highbloods are prone to highblood rages. You can see it in the way his hands tremble, long fingers clenching in fury when he gets cornered, taunted by one troll or another; you can see him take his anger and lock it away, watch him drop into a state of false calm, and you worry more with every day that passes. You aren't sure how long he can keep himself under control, and you don't think any of you will come back to life if you die again. You don't want anyone to die, and you don't want him to be forced into a position that causes him to hurt someone.  
  
You don't want anyone to die but everyone on this fucking asteroid seems hell bent on making it happen. With the way they provoke him, it's like they  _want_  him to snap. It's like they've forgotten that highbloods are strong and dangerous and capable of great destruction, it's like they've forgotten that Eridan's just as trapped as they are, stuck on this blasted rock without anyone to help him calm himself, and the little bit of pity you feel for him, that you've always felt for him, stabs you in the chest.   
  
Sollux in particular seems suicidal with his poking and prodding, openly flaunting his relationship with Feferi and laughingly joking about things that he shouldn't know, that Feferi must have told him and if that doesn't hurt you don't know what does. The way Eridan always looks so betrayed, so heartbroken, it makes your bloodpusher ache with a fierce intensity that surprises you sometimes.   
  
You know their moiraillegence was unhealthy, and that it's better for the both of them that it's over, but… you wish they'd parted on better circumstances, because now Eridan's left without anyone to talk to and… fuck, you pity the bastard, you really do.   
  
Which is why you're swiftly making your way to the nutrition block, fists clenched, trying to control your own rage. Gamzee had stumbled into your little respite block, actually frowning for once, and had warned you that shit was going to go down in the kitchen and that you'd better get your 'chill motherfuckin' ass' over there to diffuse it. You have a sick feeling you know exactly who is involved, but you can hope. Dream.   
  
Of course, your dreams are absolutely crushed under the Condescension's shiny booted heels because when you walk into the kitchen, Eridan is crowded into a corner, Sollux actually  _looming_  over him, spitting and sparking and rife with threat displays. You don't pay attention to him and his posturing, though. All you can see is Eridan, the way he's hunched in on himself, the way he's trembling in rage, the way his claws are digging into the flesh of his palms and his eyes are screwed shut, like he's trying to block out Sollux's presence.   
  
You watch him bite down on his lip, watch the blood well over and trickle down, and you know he's about to break.   
  
"Sollux," you snarl, and it hurts you chest when Eridan curls even further into himself, like he thinks you're here to gang up on him too, "Sollux, back the fuck off, now."  
  
He looks over his shoulder at you, and fuck, he really is that much taller than Eridan, you both are. How is he so small?  
  
"Yeah, what was that, KK?" he says, calm as you please, and you have to bite your own lip in order to keep yourself from screaming at him, because he is  _literally driving Eridan mad_  and he doesn't see a problem with it.   
  
"Back the fuck off," you repeat, voice low and rough, and Sollux actually takes a step away, then another when he sees you are angry and _dead fucking serious_. With every step back, Eridan looks less like a cornered animal, until Sollux gives him just enough room to abscond. He stumbles out of the room, clipping his shoulder on the doorframe, and disappears with a swish of cloth.   
  
"You are so fucking stupid," you hiss, slamming your hand against the countertop and ow, that hurt. You should reconsider hitting inanimate objects in the future. You're sure Sollux's face would feel much nicer against your fist.  
  
"KK I don't-"  
  
"He's a fucking highblood! Do you remember what they do when they get mad? And he doesn't have a fucking moirail, you dumbass. It's a wonder he hasn't gone nuts and killed everyone yet, with the way you've been fucking  _torturing_  him!"  
  
Sollux just stares at you, eyes wide behind his glasses, and you shove past him without a thought, chasing after Eridan. You could ream Sollux out later.   
  
Now, though, now you have to find Eridan and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid, to either himself or anyone around him. With the asteroid's corridors as quiet as they are, it's no trouble to follow the sound of his footsteps and, when those stop, the echo of his hitching breath. The sound makes you burn with wrath, because it means he's either crying or trying not to cry, and it hurts. It's a painful sound, and you want it- no, you  _need_  it to stop.  
  
Your feet and your ears lead you to a tiny, out of the way room hidden deep in the mess of hallways, and there's nothing special about this door, about this room, except the soft sounds of misery trickling from behind it. You don't bother knocking- you just push the door open.   
  
Eridan's huddled in the saddest little pile you think you've ever seen, curled in on himself like he's in pain, his hands wrapped around his own horns, and he's making this choked, soft little croon that physically hurts to hear. He's crooning to himself, petting his own horns and crooning to himself and shaking with fear and rage and grief and anguish and you can't help it, you're halfway across the room before you can think.   
  
"Eridan," you say, voice hoarse with the quiet volume you're forcing yourself to hold, but he snaps his head up anyways, physically cringes back into the rough little pile and yelps, eyes wide.   
  
"Kar _rrr_ ," he says, and his own voice is distorted, bubbling in his throat, spilling from his lips like water and you wince because you can hear how close he is to breaking. You take a step forward and he shuffles back, crouched on the ground like a feral animal.  
  
"Get out," he snarls, but there's a note of fear and desperation that makes you take another step forward.   
  
"Get  _out_ , Kar, I don't wanna hurt you," and he looks so scared at the very thought that you take another three steps, and with every step you take he scrabbles back until his back is pressed against the wall and he's growling, a low, terrified sound that rises in pitch and volume as you move closer.   
  
" _GET OUT!_ " he shrieks, and your chest aches at the sound.  
  
You drop to your knees in front of him and reach out a hand, pausing when he snaps his teeth at you.   
  
"Shush," you say, and tap the palm of your hand against his cheek, "Shush, Eridan."  
  
He goes stiff, the snarl dropping off his face in shock, and you pap him again, whispering another shoosh. You can actually see the rage and pain dripping from his tense frame, and with one more pap, he's been pacified. He just kind of… collapses in on himself without all that anger to keep him up, crumpling on the floor and curling into a tiny ball, shoulders shaking.   
  
You scoop him into your arms and walk back to the small pile, sitting on it with him in your lap. He's so small, he fits with room to spare, and you're confused for a minute because you remember him being taller than you, broader than you, but while you and the others grew, he stayed the same. He's exactly the same size as he was when you were all six sweeps, except thinner, and that was weight he could ill afford to lose in the first place.   
  
With deft hands, you arrange him so he's curled against you, head resting on your chest, his earfin right over your heart, and you smooth your palms down his tense back, crooning deep in your throat. He responds instinctively, a weak trill spilling from his lips before he grabs your shoulders and presses as close as he can get.

"Shush, Eridan," you murmur, and he shudders and goes limp in your hold, and you're sick to your stomach because it takes so little to tame his rage, so little to mollify him, and that's just not right. It's not right that he's so starved for pale attention that less than a handful of shooshes can keep him from exploding, it's not fair. You can, technically, leave right now and be assured that no one will die today, but even as the thought passes through your mind, you remember him trying to calm himself and the image fills you with such overwhelming pity you can't force yourself to leave.   
  
There's no way you can leave him like this, trembling and almost hysterical, even if the danger has passed. Not when he's so cold in your arms, when you can feel the race of his heart against your hands, the way he's shaking with repressed emotions. You can't leave him like this, so you settle deeper into the tiny pile and hold him close and shoosh him again.   
  
"Kar…"  
  
"You did a real fucking good job of keeping yourself together," you say, because despite the doubt and disbelief you'd face from others if you ever announced such a thing, you are capable of kind words and he needs them more than anyone you've ever known, "and I'm very proud of you, but I'm here to help now. You can let go."  
  
You run one hand over the knobs of his spine, and the motion is familiar but feels clumsy because he's still the size of a six sweep old and your hand covers much more space than it should. He shudders, but leans into the touch, and you can feel him tense and relax with each pass, like he can't decide what to do.   
  
"It's alright, Eridan. You don't have to do this on your own anymore."  
  
You rub your fingers over one of his horns, imitating the way he'd petted himself earlier and that's it, he's done. He breaks down in your arms, shoulders shaking, silent tears running down his face and it's  _heartbreaking_. It's heartbreaking and you want to stop it, you want to make him stop crying, you want to hold him and never let him feel this way ever again because it hurts, your chest  _aches_  with how utterly pitiful he is, too desperately miserable to say anything, to do anything other than cry soundlessly into your chest.   
  
You don't shoosh him, though. You cradle him to your chest and pet his hair and croon to him softly, but you let him cry, let him release the pent up emotions he's been bottling up for god knows how long, because he needs it. He needs this. You don't know how long he cries, how long you sit with him, but when the tears peter out and he's left with nothing but a stained face and hitching breath to show for them, that's when you tilt his head up and force him to meet your eyes.   
  
"I am hideously, indefatigably, _depressingly fucking pale_  for you," you whisper, and press a careful, soft kiss against his forehead. He doesn't react for what seems like days, frozen in shock, and for a moment you wonder if you've broken him.   
  
"You don't have to do this," he finally says, voice small, "I'm not gonna- I'm not gonna snap, you know. I won't kill anyone."  
  
And oh, if that doesn't make your blackened, shriveled heart hurt even more, deep in your chest. You sigh, and push your foreheads together, nuzzling him and spreading pale pheromones across both of your faces. The stiffness in his limbs subsides and he trills dazedly, looking up at you with wide, pearly eyes. They haven't even colored fully yet, the deep violet still frosted by grey, and you're struck by how young he looks, even though you're the same age.   
  
"I know," and you do, you do know that he's not going to kill anyone but you're still worried about him snapping, because you know he will. With the way things have been going, it's only a matter of time before he does, and all that rage, all the anger and sorrow and terror will only have one outlet, and that outlet will be his own body.   
  
You've seen what happens to highbloods who turn on themselves in their fits. You've seen what a sharp pair of claws can to to troll hide, you know how easy it would be for him to irreparably damage himself, and you don't want that. You don't want him to feel like that's his only option. You want to keep him safe and happy and  _whole_ , emotionally and physically.   
  
"I know, and Eridan, if you think I'm only doing this to keep you under control, you're fucking stupid."  
  
You rub your cheek over his and purr, and he chirrs back, earfins fluttering.   
  
"I'm pale for you, dummy," you say, allowing affection to color your tone, "So fucking pale, you have no idea."  
  
"But I thought… Gamzee…?"  
  
"Gamzee and I aren't moirails anymore," you reply, bumping your noses together, "He decided to try some weird human quadrant thing with Tavros, fuck if I know. Now, unless you have any real objections, shut the fuck up and let me cuddle you, okay?"  
  
He bites his lip, but nods, face flaring violet, and curls back into your chest and lets you pet him. You can feel his heartbeat slowing, his breath evening out, and as he calms, stress and tension you weren't even aware of starts draining away, until you're both sprawled in a comfortable embrace, half dozing in the quiet of the room.   
  
He's the most relaxed you think you've ever seen him, eyes half shut, making a quiet, wavering purr with every stroke of your hand over his head, and he kneads his claws into your chest, obviously content. Even though you can still see the dark shadows under his eyes and feel how thin he is under his clothes, he already looks worlds better.   
  
"Are you… are you my moirail now, Kar?"   
  
"If you want me to be."  
  
He makes a sharp, high whine and nuzzles up under your chin, fingers clutching your shirt almost desperately.   
  
"Yes," he gasps, "Yes, please, I w-would- that is- you- are you serious?"  
  
"Serious as death," you murmur, and he hides his face in the crook of your neck and trills, fins fluttering. You think it's kind of adorable, the way he's too flustered to form actual words, and you respond with deeper, raspy trills and chirrs of your own, the sounds making him relax against your chest, curled up like a mewbeast.   
  
"Pale as bones, Eridan," you say, voice rough, and he purrs, fluttering his fins. His eyes are only half open, and you can tell he's well on his way to sleep, but he rouses himself just enough to look at you, to press a light kiss to your jaw and trill.   
  
"Pale as the creatures'a the deep, Kar," he says, "Pale as sand, pale as stars."  
  
He falls asleep almost as soon as he's done speaking, mouth quirked in the first smile you think you've seen him give the entire time you've known him, and you don't take long to follow, his rumbling purr and cool presence soothing you into dazed, restful dozing


End file.
